


The Knight In Footsie Pyjamas

by delicatelyglitterywriter, sachatalia



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Gen, Guns, Someone is shot, domestic abuse, domestic abuse against women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 07:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5903206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicatelyglitterywriter/pseuds/delicatelyglitterywriter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sachatalia/pseuds/sachatalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened that time Deeks shot his father?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Knight In Footsie Pyjamas

**Author's Note:**

> Updated version to fit canon. The original can be found at fanfiction.net under the same title and nom de plume

“No! No!” the little boy whimpered in his sleep. He dreamed he was in the world of Jurassic Park and he was being chased by a dinosaur who wanted him for lunch. He really should have listened to his mother when she told him not to watch it.

The child screamed and bolted upright. His blond curls were a mess on top of his head and his bright blue eyes felt as if they might cry. His sheets were covered with cold sweat, and he wished more than ever that he’d just listened to his mother and not watched Jurassic Park with his friend.

He tossed back the covers and pattered down the hall to where his mother was sleeping. When he peeked in, his mother was not there. He thought she must be downstairs, as there was a light on. So, he followed the light and found his mother, Roberta, on the couch, reading.

“Hey, Martin,” she greeted softly, making room for the scared boy. “Bad dream?”

Marty nodded and curled up next to his mother. There was a moment’s silence before he spoke.

“I’m sorry, mom,” Marty apologised, feeling his shame weight him down. “Ray and I watched ‘Jurassic Park.”

“I know,” Roberta said softly and Marty looked up.

“How’d you know?” he asked, still dreading whatever punishment his mother might give him. She pointed to the rented movie sitting atop the VCR. Marty dropped his head back into his mother’s breast and choked back his tears. After all, he was eleven; becoming big boy. And big boys didn’t cry.

“I’m so sorry, mom,” he croaked, his effort to hold back his tears affecting his voice.

“I know, I know,” she soothed the little boy. She knew what it was like to have a bad dream from watching a movie she had been warned not to watch. Once Marty had stopped calmed down a bit, they sat him silence, with Roberta just holding her son close to her chest.

“Whatcha gonna do to me?” the boy asked, muffled by her clothes. Marty was honestly scared of how his mother might punish him. Perhaps it was just his imagination that caused him to think of the worst case scenarios.

“I think your dream was punishment enough,” she decided. “Don’t you?”

Marty nodded, finally relaxing into his mother’s hold. Up until now, he had been tense from the dream and fear of what the punishment might be. To know that he was forgiven made him feel at ease.

“What’s the time, mom?” he asked after about five minutes of silent comfort. Roberta glanced up at the clock.

“Half past five,” she said and Marty yawned. He wanted to go back to sleep, but feared he wouldn’t be able to close his eyes without his nightmare coming back.

“Will you please tell me a story?” he asked, turning his head up. His adorable blue eyes mirrored his mother’s as their gazes met. Roberta smiled lovingly down at her son.

“Once upon a time,” Roberta started, adjusting herself. “In a distant land, there lived a beautiful princess by the name of…what should her name be, Martin?”

“I don’t know, mom,” he said. “You choose.”

“Alright then…” Roberta pondered, trying to pick the perfect name.

“Oh, could you please give her a name that has meaning behind it?” Marty asked.

“Of course,” Roberta smiled. “Let’s see…how does ‘Olivia’ sound? It means ‘peace’.”

Marty nodded somewhat wearily, and made himself comfortable for the story.

“Alright, let’s start again,” Roberta tried again, dropping into her storytelling voice. “Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a beautiful princess named Olivia. She was a kind princess and always looked out for others. Every knight in the land wanted her as their bride.

“Because of this, when Olivia was kidnapped by the evil dragons one day, all the knights raced to find her. But, not just any knight could venture into the dragon’s territory and save the princess. It had to be a knight with incredible courage, strength, and valour.

“There was one humble knight, whose name was Sir Martin, who jumped at the chance to save the princess and marry her…”

As Roberta continued with the story, Marty dozed off and dreamed that he was the knight battling the dragons to save the princess in the tower in order that he might win her hand. But Marty liked the whole battling dragons bit more than the wedding bit. That part was just gross.

An hour and a half later, both mother and son were soundly sleeping on the couch when they were rudely interrupted by the door almost being kicked in. Roberta was alert at once.

“Martin, go upstairs,” she instructed, getting up off the couch.

“Why, mom?” Marty asked. He wanted to stay with her and protect her. He knew that she _needed_ him to protect her.

“Just go,” she said. Fear laced her every move and syllable. Marty hesitated, but scampered upstairs just as the door swung open and his father entered. 

His father was a scary man. Tall, strong, and reeking of rum, his voice always boomed through the house and even from his bedroom he could often hear the sickening sound of skin hitting skin downstairs. 

Marty closed his bedroom door quietly. He’d learned some time ago that if he was quiet enough, his father would pretend he wasn’t there. Like pretending to not exist made it so. His father’s voice rang out and he could just hear his mother’s futile replies before the inevitable happened. He winced, a tear rolling down his face as he heard his mother cry out after the blow. 

He hated when his parents argued. He hated when his dad came home drunk. He hated the way his heart beat rapidly in his chest, a testament to how terrified he was.  

He wanted his dad to stop; stop hitting his mom, stop hitting him, stop coming home. But he was young and afraid and powerless. He recalled the story and dream from earlier, and how his mother had named the bravest knight after him.

“Knights don’t let girls get beaten up like that,” Marty told himself. 

Squaring his 11-year-old shoulders he all but marched over to his bed, imitating courage he wasn’t sure he actually possessed. He dug the handgun Ray had given him out from under the mattress before silently opening his bedroom door, hands shaking. He crept down the hall way and stared through the banister, his father’s angry words and his mother’s pain-filled cries getting louder the closer he got to the top of the staircase. 

“Bitch! I’ll kill you!”

Peering through the slats he could just make out his mother on her hands and knees, a tell-tale drop of red dripping from her mouth. It made his insides flip and his heart rate increase. A stair creaked underneath his foot as he tried to silently get closer and he slunk back to hide just as his father turned towards him. 

A moment passed, then two, before he cautiously peer down again to see his father aiming his hunting shotgun at his mother’s face. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and, almost without thinking, he scurried down to the middle of the stairs and raised the gun with trembling hands.

“You’ll pay for what you said!” his father yelled as his finger reached for the trigger. 

Marty brought his index finger up to the metal bar and hooked it around, using his thumb to cock the revolver. He could see his father lining up his shot and before he knew what was happening his finger had clenched around the trigger. The kickback made the gun to jump in his hand, almost causing him to hit himself in the face as his ears rang out from the sound. 

He looked to the bottom of the stairs. His father was lying on the ground groaning, a pool of blood forming below his stomach. His mother’s terrified eyes caught his. 

“Martin, go to your room.”

“But Mom…”

“Give me the gun and go to your room Martin!” she yelled, tears streaming down her face as she started to stand up.

Marty cautiously descended the stairs and handed the weapon over to his mother. 

“Go, now. And don’t come out,” she instructed, pushing him gently on the back to move him upstairs. 

Still trembling, Deeks ran back up the stairs and into his room. His door closed loudly behind him, making him jump before he climbed into his bed, diving beneath the covers as sobs began to wrack his small frame. 


End file.
